High Fells
by Fuinur
Summary: Witchking of Angmar and his servants slept in tombs of High Fells for many years, bounded with powerful spell, but one day the Nine were called again by their Master. (slash)


- Murazor. -

There was a softest whisper, reverberating into his mind, reaching its deepest parts, still frozen and bound with spell… Eternal, motionless sleep without dreams seemed to fading however, and its heavy veil was torn by silent, tranquil voice.

Gaunt, yet still muscular body didn't even flinch, but on noble face with sharp cheekbones returned a little color, replacing cadaverous pallor. Men's livid eyelids moved slightly.

- Awake. - this time whisper was a little lauder, impatient, yet still barely audible - I need you. -

Men lied still, like dead or statue curved in marble, but carefully observer could see, that his chest moved barely perceptible while breathing. His mind slowly began to disperse dense fog of oblivion. There was no memories at first, nor images or any knowledge. Only that whisper in darkness .

- Your lord is calling you. Answer. - men tried to reply, but his lips didn't move, paralyzed by powerful spell and long years of lying in grave; yet his breath fastened - Answer to your master. -

Men focused, desperately trying to gather scattered memories of battle, blood and pain. He didn't know where, or even who exactly he was; nor what happened to him. Only that quiet voice seemed familiar, secure… Like he would hear it many times, long ago…

- Sauron. - he though suddenly, remembering - I… am here… lord… - with huge effort of will he managed to send weak reply.

- Good… - whisper ended with sigh of relief.

Then conscious returned to him in one flash, forcing muffled cry of pain, which finally broke chains of old spell. Men twitched, trying to sit, but strong bounds held him in place. He throw himself in rising panic, in absolute darkness, and hit very hard on something above his head. He lied again, besotted, feeling blood flowing down his forehead, trying to open eyelids, that seemed too heavy.

- Calm down. - voice from afar again resounded in his mind, extinguishing panic - You lie here for a long time, enough to weaken the spell, and turned your robes into rotten rugs… But chains still held strong. -

Men ceased fight and carefully tried to palpable anything in absolute darkness. His arms, forearms and wrists were tied and cuffed with iron bracelets. He could feel cold touch of other chains on his ankles, tights, chest and neck. All were combined and heavily secured, not only be magic. On his face he felt also rotten remains of linen hood, which probably had to caver his face from sight of executioners. That though drove to another… Who made that to him, and why…

- Don't you remember…? - murmured soft voice.

And he remembered.

- Angmar fell… - he whispered, wincing painfully - We fled, and they betrayed me… Dunadans from the north… They poisoned me… And buried alive… I was… I am the Witch King of Angmar. -

- Yes… - Sauron's voice faded - Arise… Come to Dol Guldur… - whisper ended with barely audible hiss and disappeared.

- Master, don't leave me… - men shivered in his chains, in tomb so dark, like black, starless night. He even didn't know, where he was… But answer seemed to appear somehow, though he didn't hear his lord again…

High Fells. That was name of that forgotten by Eru and people place. Now he remembered… Piercing cold and weakness, after drinking poisoned wine… Hard beating, that almost killed him and long road in chains, with covered eyes and mouth; in constant pain of open wounds and broken bones, that dislocated and rub against each other with every horse movement.

Then was a darkness, filled with ghostly voices of people and elves, who casted a spell on him; spell of terrible power, which was never used before. It leaved him nor live, nor dead, dwelling between the worlds; weaken and imprisoned in his physical body. He remembered long sentences spoken in many tones, thud of falling rocks, and touch of many hands, that roughly carried his body into the tomb… Then was a dull sound of closed tombstone and loud hum of dry soil… And finally clack of iron bars, along with fading steps, slowly disappearing into dense silence. And long, long sleep without dreams…

* * *

><p>Chains were made well, and though rusted a little with passing years, still held firmly.<p>

He closed his eyes, though there was no difference in absolute darkness, and tried to calm dawn. He felt his body as weak and bony, yet still was power he could use… Men took a deep breath and whispered some harsh words, sounded with ominous, dark energy. Cool wind seemed to breathed through stuffy, stinking air of tomb and chains lost all their shine, suddenly covered with rust, like devoured by time, and finally loosened and cracked with muffled sound. He turned his wrists, clenching fists, and iron bracelets turned into dust, as well as collar around his neck.

Men raised his arms and slowly pushed heavy tombstone above, that moved away with dull sound and cloud of dust.

He sat, and then rose slowly, raising his head high, while stiff muscles and tendons creaked audibly. All rotten clothes and rugs covering his body, turned into ash, that whirled and slowly fall to his feet. Now, pale skin seemed gleamed in darkness of tombs. Men took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, sniffing in stinking air, feeling his own power gradually waking up. He made a fluent gesture and in the air appeared thin, black robe, covering his nakedness.

Then he looked above, where faint, daily light could be seen. But there was something more… In round walls of his prison were eight narrow doorways, all grating. He frowned. Eight… That couldn't be simple coincidence, though he was sure, that tombs were empty, when people from the north buried him alive… He would felt presence of other ringwraiths easily.

Now there was no presence, nor any sign of them… Yet, he thought, if spell was powerful enough to make him sink into deepest dream, more similar to death, then the same incantation probably killed his brothers, who were much less mighty.

He sighed deeply and closed his eyes in pain, seeing instantly all of them in memories… After Sauron's fall, he send them east, under leadership of Khamul, but apparently it not saved them from enemies wrath and vengeance… Now serious face of easterling appeared under his closed eyelids, and inner pain become hard to bear.

He cursed in grief, disturbing deep silence of tombs.

But maybe there was still a hope… After all, why shut so tightly the gates, through which no one cannot get out… And bars were solid, covered with many magical symbols and inscriptions protecting from evil.

He moved ahead, slowly entering the stone stairs- very old, weathered and treacherous, cracking audibly under his steps. He paused, reaching first level of tombs. Here were two doorways on opposite sides, carved in solid rock and shut. Under one of them was carved barely readable sign "II".

Witchking touched the chain, and then moved his both hands on iron bars, tensing muscles, and whispering few words. Bars made a wiling sound of tortured metal and then subsided under his touch. The crypt was open.

He entered carefully, trying to see something in dense darkness. His eyes accustomed, and after a while he saw low vault under old grave, with smoothly hewn tombstone. With one strong push, he moved it on side, revealing a narrow space, where lied slender, motionless body of men with white hair and eastern features.

Witchking exhaled with relief.

- Khamul… - he whispered, leaning over.

Easterling seemed not breath and any color faded long ago from his body, but still was no rotten corpse.

Witchking sat on tomb's edge, observing closely men's face and touching his forehead.

- Wake up. - he ordered in low voice echoing in silent crypt - Arise, my servant. -

There was no reaction, but men's aura become a little brighter; his conscious started to wake.

- Khamul, open your eyes… - he urged, still touching cold face and stroking roughly his cheek - Come back to me. Follow my voice. -

Easterling suddenly took deep, rugged breath, clenching fist convulsively and instinctively groping in search of a dagger. His eyelids flinched.

Witchking smiled triumphantly and placed his palm in men's twitching hand, intended to calm him down; other grasped it with iron force.

- It's me Khamul, easy… You're safe. -

Men opened pale eyes, disoriented and confused. His sight wandered for a while on other's face and shoulders, and finally recognition appeared in his eyes.

- My Captain… - he whispered hoarsely - Am I… dead…? -

Witchking smiled.

- Well… In some sense, certainly you are…But still you belong to this world, you were only asleep for very long time… As well, as I was. -

Khamul sat carefully, but was so weak, that other had to sustain him.

- What… a spell was casted on us, my lord? -

- Very old, elvish spell… Even I succumbed. But our Master's power is waking… He call me. -

- He's alive?! - Khamul's face was tensed - Sauron is alive?! -

- Yes, Khamul, he returned… We'll be strong again. -

- I was afraid, he vanished forever… And where have you been, my liege…? Rumors reached eastern lands. They say, you fell in war, on far north… -

Witchking winced and turned his gaze.

- I destroyed old kingdom of Arnor, as was Master's will… I paid for that the highest price. -

Khamul looked at him carefully and decided to not insist.

- Where are the others? -

- They all lie here… We'll wake them soon. - easterling started to rise, but other held him in place, with slight, disturbing smile - But first… I want to feel alive again… -

- My lord…? -

- Many ages passed, since I touched someone… - Witchking murmured, narrowing his eyes - And I missed you, easterling. -

He gently stroked other's neck and shoulder noticing, it become more bony then he remembered. Khamul made a deep breath, surprised by such closeness. Only now he realized, that his body is naked, though other wore a black robe, long to his feet.

- I doubt it's appropriate right now… We should take care of others… -

- My servant, they were waiting here for years… They can wait a little longer. -

- And why you have that robe, while I'm unclad…? -

Witchking laughed. Sound echoed in high walls of tomb, strangely inopportune in such place.

- I created it for myself… I'll give you same, when we're done. -

Khamul shivered, when Captain embraced him and started to caressing.

- Done what? - he muttered, smiling slightly.

- And what you think…? -

* * *

><p>Khamul closed eyes in delight, when other sucked his neck, slowly lowering to pale chest, caressing it with growing hunger. His tongue slid fast on sensitive skin, causing shivers. He pushed slightly, till both lied on cold, dusty stones.<p>

After a while, Khamul pulled him close and kissed slowly, tenderly caressing inside of other's mouth and sliding tongue over his teeth and palate. He admire for a moment noble, handsome, features of his Captain, who held him strongly, now caressing more violently, but in way that mixed some pain with intensive pleasure.

Khamul embraced his wide shoulders, stroking spine cavity, and whispering under his breath some obscenities, when lust hazed his mind, and urging need started to burn his loins.

- Stop teasing me… - he snorted, while other lightly bit his nipple - Damn… -

Captain looked at him with mocking grin, still licking sensitive skin.

- Inpatient as always. -

Finally he felt touch right there where he desperately needed, and moaned with hiss.

- Do it now… - he gasped - I want to feel again… -

He took deep breath and winced, feeling sudden pain, but gentle kiss ended with lascivious lick relaxed him. Pain started to transform into pleasure, that reached slowly to the deepest core, making him trembling and helpless. Sudden spasm made him cry with icy, piercing wraith scram. He thought in sweet daze, it must be the most unusual scream of pleasure, which was ever heard in those mountains.

Other men finished after a while with low, ragged moan and embraced him tightly, breathing hard. Finally, he turned on one side, resting his head on forearm and looking on his companion. Khamul still lied on his back, weary and absolutely relaxed, with huge effort of will restraining himself from falling asleep again.

Captain smiled wryly, but with some rough affection.

- Seems, I finished you. I should gave you some rest, before we'll wake others… So now, tell me about your seizure. -

Khamul winced reluctantly. He didn't wanted to break that serene moment with painful memories. Yet, he began to speak. His eyes become darker and gravely, filled with anger, when he finally fall silent.

Witchking looked in space, thoughtful and grim.

- So they chased you all time, till finally seized, outnumbered and weakened in daylight… -

- Indeed, my lord. We wanted to avoid the fight, but elves gave us no choice… There were also two wizards, powerful ones, in blue robes… We were without chances. I'm surprised, they didn't kill us on place. -

- I suppose, they simply didn't know how… - muttered Captain - Cause I doubt in their mercy, or any sense of honor. -

- Perhaps. - agreed Khamul - Beyond all that hatred, they seemed to fear us. -

- What is your last memory? -

Easterling wondered for a moment, focused.

- Well… I ordered to stay together and attack… Then we were separated and I fought alone… I stayed in middle of slaughter, trying to send to the abyss as many enemies as possible, when I crossed my blade with some very tall noldor… He was good, and I was tired already. His shining armor was strengthen with silver and mithrill, and my jathagan couldn't pierce it. Many circled me and then, I felt blow in back… - he paused, looking in past, that seemed alive, and at the same time fogged like a dream - The last I remember is, I sank to my knees… Then I saw Uvatha, whirling and fighting like demon, all covered with his own and our foes blood… And I heard old, yet powerful voice, when spell was casted on us. I saw Uvatha staggered and fall, and then was only darkness and oblivion… Until I heard your voice and saw your face… - suddenly he pulled other's hand to his lips, and gently kissed it's back. Witchking flinched, surprised and confused - My Captain… I wish to admit, when I heard rumors about your death, the last remnants of hope abandoned me… I'm glad to see you again. -

- So do I, Khamul. I missed a trusted men, among all who surrounded me on far north. -

He made a gesture, and on others naked body appeared simple, black robe, covering him. Khamul touched thin, smooth material with curiosity.

- Now… - Witchking wrapped himself in own robe - We have work to do. -

He rose and made wide gesture, speaking quickly few harsh sentences, finished with strong exclamation, and bars in all other crypts cracked with loud noise, opening the greaves, in cloud of ash and rust.

- Come… - he whispered - We are Nine again. Our lord is waiting. -


End file.
